Wings of Robin
by SupremeMasterOverlordKhurro
Summary: Robin was born a viking, but raised by a nobleman, a fisherman, and a merchant. A viking's heart sings a song only they can hear, and he longs to find the answer to his song, even if it means facing his biggest fears and going off on his own. *MENTIONS OF ABUSE, dark themes, some violence.* Join Robin as he eventually comes across Berk and dragons.


**There's no way that Berk was the only place with Vikings. So I made this, inspired partly by some of the songs from the movie Moana.**

 **Ten points to whoever can guess the song!**

 **ALSO, heads up. This story has some dark themes, abuse, and child slavery. If you're not comfortable with that, don't read this story.**

The night was alive with noise. Fire crackling, dogs barking, people running screaming as they burned alive. In a small hut, a woman huddled in the middle with a baby held tightly against her. The child was quiet, shivering, and woman tucked her furs around him, grabbing a knife from beside the beds, and ran out of the hut just minutes before it too was struck by the dragon's fire. The woman ran, trying desperately to escape, to save her baby. But it was all in vain. The dragons were bigger and much faster, and the fires were faster and higher. The woman knew she could not possibly make it much further. The smoke was too much, burning her lungs and making her eyes sting.

"The child! Give him to me!"

She heard someone yelling, but she wasn't sure what they were saying. They weren't speaking her language. A man's face appeared in front of her, wearing the clothes of a nobleman. This was no viking. He held his hands out to her and repeated his words, this time in her language. She paused, and looked back at her village. It was burning, and so were the would be no survivors after this attack. She looked back down at her baby, her son, who looked so small and weak. He could live. He could have a good life with the nobleman, surely. She kissed his forehead and handed him to the man.

"He is called Robin." She told him, pulling off a necklace that had belonged to her husband, who had died at sea weeks before Robin was born, and put it over the baby's head. Then she laid the knife on him as well. "They were his father's. Please, let him keep them."

The Nobleman nodded, before mounting a horse she hadn't seen before and turning and galloping away, with her son tucked against the stranger's chest. The woman cried as the fires finally caught up with her, licking at her ankles and pulling her into their warm embrace.

The Nobleman stayed true to his word on letting Robin keep his father's knife and necklace. When he had reached his camp, several miles from where the vikings' village had been, he found a wet nurse to care for the child and feed him. When time came for him to move further inland, back towards his father's estate, he took the wet nurse with him to continue to care for the viking child.

Robin had been a sickly thing as a baby, sometimes too weak to even cry. It was miracle he had survived the winter at all, and the Nobleman was convinced that had he not taking the baby, whether the dragon had burned the village or not, Robin would have died. It was the medicine of the civilized people that kept the infant alive, their more advanced housing and their better doctors. Once spring had come, Robin grew fast and got stronger. He became a very demanding baby, often amusing the Nobleman and his slaves, servants, and visitors with his outgoing personality. Robin's hair grew in, red as fire and his eyes had turned from the dark gray of a newborn's eyes to a lighter blue. He was a very pretty child.

As he grew, the Nobleman decided to keep him as a servant. Once he could walk and talk and understand orders, he was put to work doing easy things like feeding the fire and exercising the dogs by running around the yard with them. The bigger and stronger he got, the more chores he got. But Robin was born a viking, and despite the Nobleman's attempts to civilize him, he proved time and time again that blood is thicker than water. He was rebellious, mischievous, and prone to throwing temper tantrums. He lied, sometimes stole, and was know to sneak out quite often. But at the end of the day, the Nobleman still loved Robin.

The winter when Robin turned 8 years old, the Nobleman grew ill. He was dead before the spring even got close, and with his death, the estate and all those who worked in it, were auctioned off. Robin ended up with another Nobleman, but this one was meaner. Instead of having a room in the keep, he was given a stall in the barn to share with three other boys, all bigger and older than him. Instead of getting three meals a day, he was given one meal in the middle of the day. Instead of his punishments being less food or more work, it was a beating or a number of lashes from a leather whip. Robin learned quickly to hide any sign of pain, because this new nobleman had sons that would take advantage of it and beat him for being slow. He learned to stop showing discomfort, because that would only lead to more punishment.

He learned to steal stealthier, hide his food and his knife and his necklace in places no one would find them, and how to cause chaos in the keep without it seeming like his fault. He learned to hate his new Master.

One day, when he was 10, he was caught in the act of something terrible and out of his control. Sick, exhausted, and overworked, Robin had been trimming the rose thorns in the garden. The guard who the Master had sent to keep Robin in check, had not given Robin a break since the midday meal, which had been fighting with his stomach since he had eaten it. He was almost done trimming when it happened. He got sick. Not just vomit, but from the other end as well and as sudden and violent as a storm at sea. The Master's daughter had been on the other side of the rose bush, and prehaps had she not, Robin would have just been punished with just the whip instead of a whipping and being sold again at the auction block a week later.

With his once shiny red hair now matted and his once pretty blue eyes now weary and dull, he was marched across the auctioneer's block in soiled rags that were too big for him, and sold to a fisherman. The fisherman was twice as cruel as the Master. Robin slept on the deck of the ship no matter what the weather was, and was made to scrub the deck constantly. Whenever they went back ashore, the Fisherman would tie Robin to the mast of the ship and go get drunk. One night, Robin managed to escape the knots. He went into the Fisherman's chambers in the ship, found his necklace and his knife, and slipped off the boat in the hopes of finding his way to freedom.

Instead, he found a merchant looking to hire some workers. Robin offered to work, already know how to scrub a deck and fish and steer the little fishing boat. Ther Merchant hired him, and for the first time, Robin was not a slave but a paid worker. He had his own bunk below deck, with other crew members who snored and farted all night long, but he had a place to stay dry now and no one to whip him if he made a mistake.

And it is with this Merchant that Robin's life truly takes a turn for the unexpected. For a viking longs for a sea in a way a merchant does not. A viking longs for adventure that a Merchant can never find. A viking has a song in their heart that leads them to Valhalla, if only that viking will listen.

 **So the next chapter is when the story will start, with Robin working on the Merchant's ship! Please review!**


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